by Warren Gaston | Sep 15, 2018
I am reading a book on the Swiss artist Alberto Giacometti (1901-1966) in an attempt to rouse up my language. He knew things I want to know and expressed things I want to say. With immense vision and skill he used metal, plaster, paint, and clay to create gaunt...
by Warren Gaston | Sep 12, 2018
“I am a Muslim,” our guide announced over the loudspeaker as our tour through Istanbul began. “I am a Muslim because I was born in Istanbul. If I had been born in Rome I would be a Catholic. If I had been born in New Delhi I would be a Hindu. If I had been born...
by Warren Gaston | Sep 10, 2018
I had an uncle we called ‘Vest’ who lived out in Arizona. He would make rare visits to see my mom, his younger sister. There were twelve years between them and a continent and several worlds. “Why Vest?” I asked him of his uncommon name. “You’re mother called me...
by Warren Gaston | Sep 7, 2018
The hawk’s immaculate eyes. gaze down from its drift and spots a flash of brown shimmer disturbing distant grass. Assuming I know the hawk’s first thought, instinctual, immediate and without doubt, I wonder if there is a second thought, measured, reflective and...
by Warren Gaston | Sep 5, 2018
When I hear a violin in the hand of a master, it is hard not to think of dead goats and their guts, or a horse disturbed by its slightly altered tail, or think of a maple forest grieving one of its own, or think of discipline, hours and hours of practice. I think of...
